


I Love You

by Elle_Writes_4



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, I swear it has a happy ending, Love Confession, M/M, Sad, Sad with a Happy Ending, Self Loathing, big sad, light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 01:36:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20322937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elle_Writes_4/pseuds/Elle_Writes_4
Summary: It’s not true.That was Crowley’s first thought to Aziraphale’s confession, to the words that had carelessly spilled from his lips and onto Crowley’s lap. He stared at Aziraphale, who hadn’t stopped crying since he spoke those awful words out loud, aware that he was saying something, but Crowley couldn’t hear them. His ears were wringing with the truth he didn’t want to hear, his heart aching at the possibility that he hadn’t just been lied to.“Angel, just- please,” The first treacherous tear escaped his bare yellow eyes, his voice dripping with emotion, “Just- take it back. Say, I don’t know, that you were trying to make me laugh, or some other bullshit. Say you didn’t mean to say-”orAziraphale has a bit of a crisis regarding his relationship with Crowley, and does something that breaks both him and Crowley.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the song "i love you" by Billie Eilish! I incorporated some of the lyrics in here as well :)

It’s not true.

That was Crowley’s first thought to Aziraphale’s confession, to the words that had carelessly spilled from his lips and onto Crowley’s lap. He stared at Aziraphale, who hadn’t stopped crying since he spoke those awful words out loud, aware that he was saying something, but Crowley couldn’t hear them. His ears were wringing with the truth he didn’t want to hear, his heart aching at the possibility that he hadn’t just been lied to.

They’d had such a pleasant evening, or so Crowley had thought. Sure, Aziraphale had been silent and unusually reserved, but that’s how he was sometimes. He’d get in a mood and instead of canceling their plans, Aziraphale would trudge through it, leaving Crowley to carry most of the conversation.

_“You alright, angel?” Crowley asked, still sipping the champagne that he loved at the Ritz._

_Aziraphale looked up, blinking his thoughts away from his mind, “Why yes, I’m quite alright, my love. Why do you ask?”_

_“Dunno, you’ve been, well, quiet tonight, which is not normal for you.”_

_“Oh, don’t worry about me, dear, just lost in my thoughts I suppose.”_

_“Care to share with the class?” Crowley had sat up straighter, ready to bear whatever was holding Aziraphale down._

_“No, well, maybe later tonight. Let’s just continue our lovely evening, shall we?”_

Aziraphale had, in fact, shared what had been preoccupying him tonight, a fact that Crowley wished he’d never done.

“What- what did I do?” Crowley interrupted whatever Aziraphale had been saying, his voice thick with tears that were yet to be shed.

“Nothing, Crowley, you did absolutely nothing! This is all me, I just, I can’t-” Aziraphale’s voice cut off as another sob shook through him, causing him to place his head in his hands.

Crowley had never been the type to let someone see right through him. He’d been used to the callousness of Hell, used to closing himself off so his fellow demons couldn’t exploit his weaknesses. With Aziraphale, however, he was always an open book. Even before they had started dating, Crowley never hid anything from Aziraphale besides his feelings, and after they had confessed that they were in love, Crowley became even more transparent. This act, Aziraphale’s words, cut into him deeply, the part of his brain that controlled his self-preservation already beginning to build a wall so high that no one, not even Aziraphale, would be able to see inside.

“Angel, just-_ please_,” The first treacherous tear escaped his bare yellow eyes, his voice dripping with emotion, “Just- take it back. Say, I don’t know, that you were trying to make me laugh, or some other bullshit. Say you didn’t mean to say-” 

_Aziraphale had sat in the car for a second, Crowley unsure of whether or not he had any intention of going inside. Before Crowley could ask him what he wanted to do, Aziraphale had silently climbed out of the car, beckoning Crowley to follow._

_Once inside the bookshop, Aziraphale lead Crowley to the couch in the back room, collapsing into it and pressing his face into his hands._

_“Aziraphale,” Crowley sat next to him, placing his hands delicately on his shoulders, “Angel, what’s wrong, tell me, you know you can tell me, right?”_

_Aziraphale, much like a child, shook his head, before saying, “No, Crowley- I- I can’t.”_

_The worry deepened in Crowley’s chest, and his grip tightened a little on the angel’s shoulders._

_“Can’t what? Tell me? C’mon, Aziraphale, I thought we were past the secrets. Just tell me, angel, so I can make it better.”_

_Aziraphale lifted his head slightly, his bright blue eyes overflowing with tears._

_“I- I don’t…”_

_“Don’t what?” Crowley asked softly._

_“I love you.” Aziraphale lifted his head fully now, saying the phrase as if he were diagnosing a patient with a terminal illness._

_“I- I love you too, angel, but why-”_

_“And I don’t want to.”_

Crowley couldn’t finish his sentence, feeling if the words were spoken out loud again he would break even further. He looked at Aziraphale with a thousand questions in his eyes, wanting to know _why_, _why _confess his feelings for him, kiss him, _love_ him, just to take it back six months later? These past few months had been perfect; they were filled with weightless laughter, kisses to the forehead, and hand holding whenever and wherever they wanted. Crowley had never been so unbelievably happy, and thought that Aziraphale had felt the same.

“I- I’ve been up all night,” Aziraphale said, trying to answer the questions in his eyes, “I, I know we rejected our sides, and that there’s no way that they would take us back, but I can’t..”

Aziraphale turned his gaze from Crowley, a few more tears leaking out before he could continue.

“I don’t care what Heaven thinks, or what anyone thinks, for that matter, but I care what she thinks,” The words seemed to punch him in the gut, another thing taken from him by The Almighty, “I- can’t do anything that would risk her hating me, Crowley, I- still care about her, even with all that’s happened.”

Crowley looked down at his hands, trying so desperately to control the sobs that were crawling their way up his throat. He wished they’d never gotten together, wished they had continued their careful dance of pretending they didn’t love each other. Then, he wouldn’t know how wonderful it was to be with Aziraphale, could keep fooling himself that it would never work because _it did, it did work and it was wonderful and everything Crowley had ever wanted-_

“Maybe- maybe we could try to go back to the way things were,” Crowley didn’t want things to go back to the way things were, “We could pretend this never happened, and go back to being friends I- I don’t want to lose you, Crowley.”

There was something breaking inside of Crowley. He couldn’t bring his gaze up, couldn’t look at the angel who was destroying him in a way that holy water could never begin to. When Aziraphale had first whispered ‘I don’t want to’ to him, it felt as if his soul had cracked, careful hairline fractures creeping his way through him. Now, with Aziraphale picking Heaven over him _again_, after all they had been through, it had been enough to shatter the pieces of his soul, a wound he didn’t think could heal.

“Crowley, please, _please_, look up at me- I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Aziraphale’s voice was catching, another sob breaking his words.

Crowley did what he was asked, looking up at the saddened angel because there was nothing that he wouldn’t do for Aziraphale. When Crowley saw his tear stained face, he did the one thing that he always did- he comforted his angel, pulling Aziraphale into him, holding him so tightly that he wasn’t sure if he consoling himself or Aziraphale.

“Please,” Crowley whispered in his ear, “Don’t do this. Don’t leave me. We’re on our own side, remember?”

Crowley hated how weak his voice sounded, how desperate and lonely it came out, but he didn’t care; he needed to fight for Aziraphale, for the one thing that he ever really gave a damn about. If he was about to lose everything, he wouldn’t let it go easily.

Aziraphale suffered through a few more sobs before he responded with, “I- I’m sorry, but I- I have to do this. I can’t- I don’t want to…”

Aziraphale’s words caused the pain in his chest to flare up, reminding him that everything he had ever wanted was slipping through his fingertips. Crowley felt like if he had drunk holy water, had let the blessed liquid course through him and sear through his veins. It would be less painful than this, because this, this felt like _dying_. The overwhelming agony of realizing they couldn’t go back, not after this. By doing so, he would have to say goodbye to Aziraphale forever, which felt as though he was reaching into his chest and ripping out his beating heart. He held onto Aziraphale as if his life depended on it (it did), wanting to hold him here until he changed his mind and let Crowley back into his heart.

“I love you.” Crowley tried again, knowing that if this didn’t work than nothing would.

“I- I don’t want to.”

Everything was falling apart. Crowley knew very well once Aziraphale set his mind there was very little he could do to change it. He knew that Aziraphale was certain about this, was certain about the fact that he didn’t love Crowley enough to risk everything, didn’t love Crowley enough to stay. He didn’t love Crowley nearly as much as Crowley loved him.

They stayed like that for a while, both holding onto each other and never wanting to let go. Crowley knew, however, that they had to part at some point. Aziraphale was set in his decision, and everything had to come to an end. He pulled back, feeling that if he didn’t pull away now he would never leave. Crowley paused, planting a soft kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead. He closed his eyes, allowing himself this one moment. He allowed himself to breath Aziraphale’s familiar scent in one last time, allowed himself to memorize the way his skin felt against his lips in the lifespan of one kiss.

“Take care of yourself, Aziraphale.” Crowley said against his forehead.

He stood up suddenly, not looking at Aziraphale at all, feeling that if he saw him Crowley would crawl back to him again. He quickly walked to the door of the familiar bookshop, pushing the door open when he froze. A sudden urge to turn around, look back, see the being he loved one last time surged through him. He turned slowly, taking in the countless racks of books that no one but Aziraphale had read, the place that felt more like his home then his flat ever did. His eyes finally settled on Aziraphale again, still sitting on the couch, looking at his hands and ignoring Crowley completely.

Crowley nodded, turning his head quickly as the sobs came out of him. He left the bookshop in a hurry, and left behind his heart and soul on the way out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part is loosely inspired by “All Too Well” by Taylor Swift! I’m not usually a fan of her older stuff, but I felt like this song fit so well after the first part. This ended up being longer than expected, but I am happy with how it turned out. It does end happy I SWEAR

_When Crowley stepped off the bus that had miraculously stopped in front of his place, the realization that Aziraphale was going to be in his flat hit him fully. His stomach began to twist nervously as he hoped he hadn’t left the flat in too much disarray. He hadn’t really thought much of it when he had invited Aziraphale to stay, wanting desperately to help alleviate Aziraphale’s pain of losing his bookshop with the one thing he could offer._

_Aziraphale was oddly quiet as Crowley led them both up to the door of his flat, Crowley nervously turning the key to open the door. He paused before stepping in, fully expecting to see a puddle that had once been Ligur that was mysteriously gone._

_“Wha-” Adam. Crowley hopped that he hadn’t brought Ligur back, they already had enough problems that didn’t have room to fit a revengeful demon._

_“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale asked softly behind him._

_“Nothing, just, erm..” Crowley didn’t finish his thought, instead walking into his flat and tilting his head to indicate Aziraphale to follow._

_As they stepped into the minimalistic flat, Crowley noticed Aziraphale pause, taking in the whole room as he slowly removed the scarf that had been hanging so closely to his neck. He had miracled himself one on the bus, less out of cold, Crowley suspected, and more out of needing something soft to comfort him after the day they had both had._

_As Aziraphale placed his scarf on the coffee table, Crowley couldn’t help but feel like as though he was embarrassed at his place; Aziraphale’s bookshop was always so vibrant and full of life, and here was Crowley’s flat, filled only with the bare necessities he needed to survive._

_“S’not much, but it’s enough for me.” Crowley shrugged his shoulders, not meeting Aziraphale’s gaze._

_“Oh, my dear, it really is lovely. Not quite my taste, no, but still beautiful none-the-less.” He flashed Crowley a brilliant smile, one that made Crowley blush slightly._

_“So, erm, you want some tea?” Crowley couldn’t believe that Aziraphale was here, standing in his space, and to be honest he wasn’t sure how to handle his presence there._

_“That would be wonderful, my dear boy.”_

_Crowley nodded, and made his way to the kitchen. He had intended for Aziraphale to stay in the living room while he made the drink, surprised to hear footsteps following behind him. To be honest, he was relieved that Aziraphale wouldn’t be leaving his sight; after Aziraphale appeared to him in the bar, Crowley didn’t believe it at first, not quite accepting that what he was seeing wasn’t a drunken illusion. Crowley was afraid that if he left Aziraphale out of his sight for too long, he would disappear forever and there would be nothing Crowley could do._

_They remained silent as Crowley made the tea, sauntering around the kitchen while Aziraphale planted himself at the table. He gave a silent nod of thanks when Crowley handed him his cup, and joined Aziraphale at the table. The silence continued to stretch over them, Aziraphale deep in his thoughts and Crowley trying to do anything but think._

_“They’ll come for us, you know.” Aziraphale stared off into the distance, his eyes a million miles away._

_“I know.” Crowley sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair._

_“What are we going to do?” Aziraphale’s eyes met his, bright blue eyes glistening with worry and tears._

_“I- I don’t know. We’ll figure something out.” As if the day hadn’t been emotionally charged enough, he reached out and grabbed Aziraphale’s hand, his thumb rubbing his knuckles comfortingly._

_Aziraphale nodded and looked down at their hands, squeezing Crowley’s appreciatively. _

_“Crowley,” Aziraphale paused, his eyes not wavering from their hands, “There’s something I want you to know, if everything goes, well, pear-shaped.”_

_“Hey, we don’t have to do this now, we can do this later-”_

_“No, Crowley, I want to do this now,” Aziraphale’s head shot up, his eyes still worried but filled with determination, “We don’t know if we have later, my dear.”_

_Crowley didn’t respond, knowing full well that Aziraphale was right. He gave him a look that said ‘_tell me, then_.’_

_“Crowley, I- I love you. I’ve loved you for a while now, I suppose. I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, but with our sides watching us so heavily, I was…”_

_“Scared.” Crowley finished for him._

_“Right. Scared.” Aziraphale looked at him uncertain, his eyes searching Crowley’s face._

_The truth was that Crowley’s brain was short circuiting. He hadn’t been sure of whatever Aziraphale was going to tell him, but he definitively did _not_ expect this. Yes, he loved Aziraphale too, with every inch of his being, but he had never once expected Aziraphale to feel the same, could never expect him to love a demon. Yet, here he was, confessing his love for him like Crowley had never let himself imagine he would._

_“I- it’s alright, if you don’t feel the same. I just- I wanted you to know.” Crowley could feel Aziraphale begin to pull his hand out of his, causing him to snap out of his thoughts._

_“Angel,” Crowley tightened his grip on Aziraphale’s hand, “I love you too. Always have.”_

_“Oh, good.” Aziraphale’s relieved smile planted itself comfortably on his face, the worry in his eyes temporarily replaced by overwhelming joy._

_Crowley lifted their hands to his mouth, planting a soft kiss on Aziraphale’s hand. A promise, one that said that no matter what, he would always love his angel._

_ Aziraphale had forgotten his scarf at Crowley’s flat after they had fooled Heaven and Hell. Crowley picked it up, smiling at the memory of that night where they had confessed their feelings, had started their new future together. He’d had every intention to return it, even picking up his phone to dial Aziraphale’s number when he paused. It was odd; he didn’t want to give the scarf back, wanting something physical of Aziraphale for when they were separated. Clutching the scarf tighter, he walked back to his room to place the memento in his dresser to reminisce another day._

Grief did strange things to humans.

As a demon who had been on Earth since the beginning, Crowley had seen his fair share of grief, often caused by his own lot, but had never personally experienced it. He had only gotten a taste when he ran into Aziraphale’s bookshop and assumed the flames were Hellfire, assumed that the angel had been overwhelmed and been killed. He didn’t have to deal with that pain for too long, because he had taken solace in the fact that the world was ending and that he wouldn’t have to live without him.

The grief Crowley felt now was somehow even worse than the first time he had felt it; when he thought Aziraphale was dead, it hurt terribly, but he had known deep down that he wouldn’t have left Crowley willingly. There was no sting of rejection, just overwhelming sorrow as he realized Hell had taken the love of his life away from him. But now, with this, it felt like his whole _soul _was aching. It felt was if he was Falling all over again, except this time, the overwhelming agony was making a home inside his soul rather than his body. The cavity that had once held his heart felt empty, hollowed, all the organs inside pushed out of the way to make room for the undeniable pain of loss that echoed through him. He hadn’t been good enough for Aziraphale, who loved him, had _admitted _to loving him, only he didn’t want to.

Crowley wasn’t paying attention to the world surrounding him; he was so focused on the hurt he felt that he didn’t remember the drive home, didn’t remember unlocking his door, and didn’t remember collapsing onto his bed, clutching his chest like someone having a heart attack would. 

Crowley cried shamelessly; he was _disgusting_. He should have known he would never have been good enough for Aziraphale, should have known even if he didn’t act like one, he was still a demon. Angels couldn’t love demons. It was clear as that. Crowley was so unbelievably _stupid _to think otherwise. He was stupid to think that he could finally be happy, that God would allow him to finally have what he wanted.

Crowley grabbed one of his pillows and pulled it tightly to his chest, burying his face in it. He wanted so desperately to sleep, to escape for a decade or too but every time he closed his eyes he saw Aziraphale’s loving smile, heard him whisper ‘I love you’ in a dark room, felt his lips press against his.

It was all too much to bear.

He screamed into the pillow, a sound that caused his neighbors to panic and worry if someone was being murdered in the building. Crowley hated himself, hated his black wings and amber eyes and the fact that he was Fallen. He was a wretched creature and he wished, he _wished _that he had never been created. He remembered all the times Aziraphale called him kind, how he would see the self-loathing in Crowley’s eyes and hush him, remind him he wasn’t a waste of space, that he loved him more than anything.

Those memories _hurt_, digging the pain deeper into him than he thought possible. It _hurt _to know that he could never see Aziraphale again; he knew the angel had offered a compromise, saying that they couldn’t be together but they could still see each other. Crowley couldn’t do that. He couldn’t go back to pretending. That was a chapter that he had closed the moment the words ‘I love you’ escaped his lips. It would be cruel, and it would hurt him more, to see Aziraphale and know that he could never have him. To remember how much they had loved each other, rubbed in his face like salt in a wound.

Eventually, the tears and screams gave way to silent sobs, and his body fell into a well needed sleep.

His last thoughts before he drifted away was that if he could never see Aziraphale again, maybe he should consider finding some holy water and dousing himself with it.

_“Cliffhangers?”_

_“Yeah, that one was me,” Crowley paused, only continuing when he saw the affronted look on Aziraphale’s face, “It wasn’t _intentional_, I mentioned it once when I was drunk to a writer! How was I supposed to know it would catch on?”_

_Aziraphale shook his head, but the affronted look had disappeared and was replaced by light amusement._

_“Online dating?” Crowley suggested._

_“Definitely _not _Heaven.” Aziraphale said confidently._

_“Really? Finding true love and all? I thought that would have Heaven written all over it.”_

_“Well, normally yes, but have you seen the way some young people use it? The kind of demeaning messages that young women receive is absolutely repulsive.” Aziraphale shuddered, as if the thought brought up a particularly bad memory._

_“Alright, fair enough. So that one goes in with Hell.”_

_There was a pause, before Aziraphale suggested, “Paper cuts?”_

_“Now _that’s _most definitely Hell. Believe me if I had been in that staff meeting I would have vetoed the idea immediately.” _

_Aziraphale turned his attention to the passenger window, a small chuckle escaping him. Crowley smiled, a real smile, and relaxed one of his hands onto his lap. Suddenly, he felt Aziraphale take his hand, and rest it on Crowley’s knee. Crowley snapped his eyes down to his legs, unable to focus with the sudden touch from Aziraphale._

_“Crowley- Crowley, the light!”_

_Crowley looked back to the street to see the once green light now red, and had barely enough time to slam the breaks and come to a disoriented stop. Of course, the Bentley would have never allowed them to run the red light, but the car still stopped abruptly, both beings lurching forward in their seats._

_“Sorry, angel, I just,” Crowley looked back at their hands and sighed, “I guess I’m still not used to this.” _

_Aziraphale blinked, before remembering their intertwined fingers before saying, “Oh, Crowley, how inconsiderate of me! I didn’t really think, I should have asked before I-”_

_“No! No, Aziraphale, it’s fine,” He leaned over to give a small kiss on Aziraphale’s cheeks, who blushed furiously, “I’ll just have to learn to stop being a blubbering idiot anytime you touch me.”_

_Aziraphale smiled, and squeezed his hand._

_“Well, I should hope not. It’s actually quite endearing to see you clam up.”_

_Crowley stifled a smile as he focused back on the road again, thinking that there were worse fates to suffer than constantly being overwhelmed by Aziraphale’s love._

It had been a week since Aziraphale had broken Crowley, had caused him to collapse into his bed and sleep for the majority of the past few days. He had hoped to sleep longer, but his body wasn’t accustomed to resting for long periods of time. He had once slept for a hundred years out of pure boredom, but after the grief he got from Aziraphale he had stuck to sleeping in normal human fashion.

He still ached, still felt as if his entire core had been gutted, leaving him empty. When he had first awoken, he had forgotten the entire ordeal for a few blessed seconds before reality hit him again. He stayed in bed for days, not finding any will to do _anything_ anymore. If he did get up, it was to get alcohol, _copious _amounts of alcohol, drinking until he passed out. He cried until he felt as if he were going to discorporate from dehydration, left his plants to die slowly in the other room. His heart _hurt_, making him finally understand why heartbreak was so devastating to humans. 

He, on more than one occasion, had been tempted to call Aziraphale, beg him to take him back, and blubber on about how miserable life was without him. Every time he convinced himself that it would be a good idea, the faint memory of Aziraphale’s tear-stained face saying ‘_I don’t want to_’ cut him open again, and he would crawl back in bed, chugging as much alcohol as he could summon. 

Days were meaningless. They passed by in a blur, weeks melting into each other before Crowley realized that three months had passed by too slow. He had slept through most of it, and Crowley had begun to get used to being in constant pain, the feeling of emptiness in his soul where he knew Aziraphale should be. He began to slowly get himself out of bed, not because of any will to go on and continue but because sleeping constantly was beginning to lose its comfort on him.

Crowley checked his phone, the only notifications were from Anathema checking up on him. Nothing in the sense that she knew what had happened, but more in a casual, ‘_Hey, haven’t heard from you in a while, we should get together_’ kind of way. In one of these texts, Anathema announced that she had finally gotten herself a Twitter account, providing a link for Crowley if he wanted to check it out. He decided he really didn’t have anything better to do, so he followed the link to her page. There wasn’t much, mostly just retweets from other people. He kept scrolling, not really reading anything, until he came upon something that made him inhale sharply.

It was a picture of Anathema and Aziraphale, both of them sitting in her kitchen and smiling. The smile didn’t quite reach Aziraphale’s eyes, and he looked surprisingly tired. Staring at the photo, Crowley felt tears begin to make their way down his face, a part of him reminding him that this was a bad idea, that he should put the phone down, but he couldn’t. He missed seeing Aziraphale’s face, even if it brought him pain.

It became a bad habit, almost like a drug addiction, for Crowley to check Anathema’s Twitter. He’d wake up from a however-many-days-long nap, and the first thing he’d do was scroll until he found a picture. His breathing would catch, his heart ache, but that wouldn’t stop him. If he couldn’t see Aziraphale in his own life, he’d at least be able to see him through a screen.

Eventually, Anathema called, expressing her sympathy for what had happened between him and Aziraphale. Of course, this only caused Crowley to snap at her, but she had begun to know him well enough to not take it to heart. Knowing the heartache Crowley was going through, she made her calls more frequent, making sure he didn’t do anything reckless.

In their brief conversations, Crowley would ask about Aziraphale. She was always hesitant, always saying that it wasn’t good for him to cling on like this, but she would cave in. She always did. It comforted him to know that Aziraphale was having a hard time without him, and gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, Aziraphale would call him up and ask to forget the whole thing.

Like any addiction, Crowley’s need to see Aziraphale only grew worse. The pictures were fine, but they weren’t really Aziraphale. He needed to see Aziraphale in real light, not through a pixelated phone screen. He needed to see him moving, breathing, _alive_. So, though Crowley would never admit to it, he graduated from online stalking to stalking in real life.

Crowley would sit himself outside the bookshop (disguised, of course), and would watch Aziraphale through the shop’s windows, the pain briefly gone as he imagined that they were still together, that he could walk inside and take Aziraphale out to lunch. On more than one occasion he had wanted, more than anything, to talk to Aziraphale while disguised, but he knew that would only end in disaster. Not only would Aziraphale would be able to sense his demonic nature, he knew Crowley too well and would be able to see right through him. Instead, Crowley settled on watching him huff at costumers who _dared _to buy books in his bookshop, reorganize his books for the millionth time, and, sometimes, see him staring at the window lost in thought. If Aziraphale went out, he would stay close behind, watching him shop for groceries, a new book, or anything. Crowley sat as far as he could with still having sight on Aziraphale in the park, watch the angel feed the ducks and then sigh sadly, looking up as if he missed something.

It was one of those days in the park where Crowley sat, newspaper in hand, glancing up occasionally at Aziraphale. Crowley’s disguise was, well, lackluster. He was wearing a Queen shirt, black sweatpants, and dark tennis shoes. Crowley was running out of ideas for disguises at this point. He had worn nearly everything he could think of, and was too scared to wear something he had worn before twice for fear that Aziraphale would recognize him. He had even switched his sunglasses for a more modern pair, hating that no matter what form he took, he could never change his serpent eyes. 

Crowley slowly rose his eyes from the newspaper he wasn’t reading, which was unfortunately the same time Aziraphale had casually glanced in his direction. Their eyes met (or rather, Aziraphale made eye contact with Crowley’s sunglasses), and Crowley was quickly horrified to see the angel begin to make his way over to him. Panic flowed through him, and he quickly stood up, folding the newspaper under his arm and tried his best to blend into the crowd around him. He walked quickly, hoping oh so desperately that Aziraphale would give up and turn around.

He risked a glance behind him, his heart rate rising when he saw Aziraphale still trying to catch up with him. He picked up his pace, walking down the familiar London sidewalk while trying to find a place to escape. Sure, he could do a quick miracle to get out of this situation, but then that would only confirm Aziraphale’s suspicion that it was him.

The small crowd of people walking around him grew bigger, giving Crowley enough of a cover to quickly sneak into a random shop. He rapidly hid behind a rack of clothing, looking out the shop window to see if he had successfully escaped Aziraphale. After a few long seconds, the angel finally came into view, slowing to a stop as he looked through the crowd. His eyebrows furrowed, and he quickly spun around, lifting his head to try to get a glance at the familiar red hair he could have sworn he’d seen a few moments ago.

The confused look quickly melted into despair, and Aziraphale began wrap his arms around himself as tears made their way down his face. The pain Crowley had frantically been trying to avoid flared angrily up in his chest, somehow even worse than before. Seeing Aziraphale crying, in _pain _was torture to watch, and Crowley felt his feet begin to shuffle forwards as he thought _screw this _to go out and comfort the angel. He was prepared to wrap his long arms around Aziraphale, tell him he wasn’t going anywhere, when he froze, realization halting his feet. This was his fault. He was crying because he had seen Crowley, had been reminded of what happened.

Crowley had _hurt _Aziraphale. There he was, the love of his life crying out in pain, and he had caused it. Disgust began to work its way into Crowley’s chest, his mind screeching that Crowley wasn’t worthy of trying to comfort the angel after what he had done. He had been so _stupid _to think that he could get away with this, that nothing bad could come out of following Aziraphale. He had to leave. That’s the only thing that would make this better. With a parting glance to his hurting angel, Crowley snapped his fingers, and suddenly he was back in his apartment, back to screaming and hating himself for being who he was.

Crowley stuck to online stalking after that.

_“Honestly, Crowley, there’s nothing here!” Aziraphale huffed as he searched through Crowley’s desolate fridge, “One would think that you’d keep your kitchen better stocked.”_

_“Not used to having guests over.” Crowley shrugged, leaning on a counter nonchalantly._

_“Well, if I am to be staying here for a few days we’ll need to go shopping.” Aziraphale stood, still glaring into the fridge as if that would cause food to magically appear._

_“If you insist.” Crowley drummed his fingers against the counter, creating a rhythm that went to with the hum of electricity that the fridge emitted._

_Aziraphale froze, listening to the noise Crowley was creating._

_“Quite a lovely sound your making there, my dear.”_

_“Hm?” Crowley looked down at his fingers, not aware of what his hand was doing, “I suppose.”_

_He looked up at Aziraphale, and an exciting idea popped into his head._

_“Would it be a good song to dance to?” Crowley tilted his head, a small smile forming on his lips._

_Aziraphale blinked, before saying, “Are you asking me to dance?”_

_“Maybe. Depends on your answer.”_

_Aziraphale’s face contorted in the way it did when he desperately wanted to say yes but his overthinking mind held him back._

_“Angels don’t typically dance…” Aziraphale bit his lip._

_“_Angels _also don’t typically kiss demons too,” Aziraphale playfully slapped his arm, “C’mon angel, I know you learned how to do the gavotte.”_

_“That was different and you know it! There isn’t even actual music playing…” Crowley had stopped drumming his fingers mindlessly, the only sound in the kitchen was the refrigerator that was still open and was currently the only source of light in the dark room._

_“Does that really matter?” Crowley offered his hand to Aziraphale, who after giving it doubting looks, finally took it._

_Aziraphale placed one hand on Crowley’s waist, the other still in his hand. Crowley’s free hand found Aziraphale’s shoulder, and with that they began to sway slowly._

_“See, it’s not that bad, angel.” Crowley smirked a self-satisfied smile, one that earned a small glare from Aziraphale._

_“No, I suppose it’s not.”_

_After a few turns, they found themselves moving unconsciously closer to each other, Aziraphale pressing his head against Crowley’s cheek and Crowley’s hand moving to Aziraphale’s neck. They danced to the rhythm of their beating hearts, and when Crowley spun Aziraphale around, the angel gave him a startled but loving look, one that made Crowley realize he wanted nothing more out of life than to be with his angel. _

The phone ringing woke Crowley up abruptly.

He grumbled annoyingly, ready to tell whoever was calling him to _sod off, _when he picked up his phone and saw that it was Aziraphale. A spark of hope flashed through him before he could stop it, his mind racing with the possibility that the angel was calling to apologize and to ask him to come home.

“Hello?” Crowley’s voice was groggy and half asleep.

“Hi, Crowley,” Aziraphale sounded hesitant, “How are you?”

“Been better.” That was an understatement.

“Me too.”

A long pause elapsed between them, every second passing causing Crowley to become more and more alert. Crowley waited for Aziraphale to say something, to continue the conversation and say what he needed to say. 

“Why are you calling, angel?” Crowley finally broke through the silence.

“I, erm, wanted to invite you. To lunch.” Crowley’s heart started pounding as he realized this was it. The moment he thought he’d never get.

“Where do you want to go?” Crowley pushed himself off the bed, already planning what outfit would be best.

“There’s a new sushi place that just opened up down the street. Thought it might be nice for us to try out, and catch up.”

Crowley’s hope and body froze, his mind realizing that Aziraphale hadn’t said make up for what happened, only to catch up. Catching up could mean many things, and Crowley didn’t know which category this outing fit under. He didn’t want to ask, he really didn’t, but he had to. He had to make sure he wasn’t about to put himself in a situation where he’d be crushed all over again.

“Aziraphale, is this a date?” Crowley grasped the jacket he’d been about to put on so hard his knuckles turned white, the anxiety of the possible answer destroying him.

There was another long pause at the end of the line before Aziraphale spoke.

“I’m afraid not, Crowley.” Crowley felt the air leave his lungs, the hope deflated out of him.

“This would be a mere social gathering, as friends. I- I miss you, Crowley, and honestly I think this is for the best, if you really think about it-”

Aziraphale continued to ramble on, but Crowley wasn’t listening anymore. His vision began to grow blurry, anger gently purring in his chest.

“I can’t do this Aziraphale,” Crowley interrupted the angel, soft anger pouring in his voice, “I- I can’t sit in front of you and pretend I don’t love you. I-”

Crowley’s voice was interrupted by a sob, hating how weak he sounded to Aziraphale.

“Crowley-”

“Don’t do this to me again.”

Crowley declined the call, and threw his phone across the room just to watch it shatter on the wall in front of him. He felt himself sink to the ground, the tears he had been holding back flowed out of him like a dam. He put his head in his hands, the broken pieces inside of him screaming, demanding to be put back together in a way that only Aziraphale could do.

_Crowley had never been happier._

_He currently had his head on Aziraphale’s chest, could hear his heart beat through his tartan pajamas. His arm was loosely wrapped around the angel’s waist, his left leg hitched up over Aziraphale’s own. Crowley usually tried not to think about Heaven too often but this, this was _way _better than anything he’d experienced Upstairs._

_Crowley shifted his head so he could see Aziraphale, who was still fast asleep. Though Aziraphale rarely slept, Crowley had insisted on him coming to bed with him, and occasionally Aziraphale would drift off before he really knew what was happening._

_Crowley took his free had and began to trace Aziraphale’s face, still not believing that Aziraphale was his, his fingers tracing down his nose and the curve of his lips._

_Aziraphale made a noise that indicated that he was waking up as Crowley moved his finger along the angel’s jaw. Aziraphale’s eyes opened sleepily, blinking a few times before they settled on Crowley’s._

_“Morning.” Crowley said softly._

_“Good morning, my love.” Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand, bringing it to his lips to plant a soft kiss that caused Crowley to melt further into Aziraphale._

_Crowley closed his eyes, enjoying this moment that felt like the world was just the two of them. Aziraphale interlaced their fingers together, resting their hands on his shoulder. Crowley sighed contently, more than willing to stay like this forever._

_A slight movement on the bed made Crowley’s eyes flash open as he saw Aziraphale beginning to try to get up. Crowley’s limbs around the angel’s tightened slightly, holding him in place._

_“Where do you think you’re going?” Crowley said sleepily._

_“Well, it _is_ nine in the morning, I suppose it’s time for us to start our day.”_

_“No.”_

_“Crowley,” The angel said with a soft laugh, “I have to get up.”_

_ “Nope.” Crowley closed his eyes, not willing to compromise._

_“Crowley!” Aziraphale’s tone sounded like he was trying to be annoyed, but really found this whole thing endearing._

_“We’re staying in bed today, angel.” Crowley was determined, and stubborn._

_ “I’m not sure if I can-”_

_“There’s no negotiating with me angel. Your shop will survive one day with you not pretending to sell books.”_

_ Aziraphale paused, before saying, “Alright, my love.”_

_ Aziraphale moved his hand to run his fingers through Crowley’s hair, and before Crowley even could realize it, he was back asleep. _

Eight months later found Crowley mailing a box of Aziraphale’s things back to him. Aziraphale hadn’t called back since the last time, a fact that both saddened but relieved Crowley. He didn’t know if he would have the strength to tell him no again. If he was honest, Crowley hadn’t wanted to give Aziraphale’s things back, wanted to keep them so he could have a small piece of his angel with him. Anathema had insisted, however, and it was hard to play off an old antique as belonging to Crowley. Aziraphale hadn’t mentioned anything after he received his things, and Crowley didn’t call him, either. He still wanted to be with Aziraphale, but he knew he couldn’t change Aziraphale’s mind.

The pain never really stopped; it hurt just as bad as it had at the beginning, but somehow he’d adjusted to it, lived with it as if that chronic pain had always been a part of him. Sometimes Crowley would see something on TV that reminded him of Aziraphale and his chest would tighten, his eyes would water. He let himself feel the pain in those moments. It was better, since the last time he had tried to bottle his feelings up he’d accidentally released them when he smashed one of his plants in the other room.

Today found Crowley searching through his drawers, trying to find a pair of pants. Sure, he could miracle them on, but honestly that would be a waste of a miracle. As he prepared to turn his dresser inside out, his hands brushed against a soft fabric. He paused, grabbing the cloth that he was almost certain didn’t belong to him. When he finally fished it out of the drawer, he took in a sharp breath, recognizing the foreign material. It was the scarf that Aziraphale had worn on the night of the Not Apocalypse, the one that he’d left behind. 

Aziraphale’s smell still clung to it, and Crowley couldn’t help but let the scent flow into his nostrils. It smelled like innocence, cocoa, tea, and dusty old books. The scent brought him back to that first night where they had confessed their feelings for each other, remembering the feeling of hope and possibility that had flowed through it. Crowley’s breathing started to become more difficult, his cheeks feeling oddly wet. He knew he should get rid of it. He knew that he should get another box and mail it back, relieving himself of the last reminder of Aziraphale he’d ever have.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t get rid of it. In reality, he didn’t _want _to. Crowley wanted Aziraphale back more than anything he had ever wanted. His grip tightened on the scarf, telling himself that no matter how much Anathema yelled at him, he would ever get rid of it. If Aziraphale wanted it, he’d have to come and take it from him himself.

Aziraphale.

Crowley shook his head. Enough was enough. Placing the scarf back in the dresser, he went to grab his keys to do something terribly reckless. Aziraphale had said his peace all those months ago, but Crowley hadn’t. Crowley had done what he always had, giving into what Aziraphale wanted just because it was Aziraphale who was asking. No. Not anymore. He was done letting Aziraphale do whatever he wanted to him. Crowley needed to talk to Aziraphale, let him know everything he felt, somehow convince him that this was not the right choice, that _Crowley _was the right choice.

As Crowley rushed out of his flat, he didn’t remember how he got to the bookshop; he didn’t remember the drive there (despite many people around him that _did _remember it), his mind only racing with anger and determination as he raced back to his heart. He parked haphazardly in his usual spot, running across the street and throwing the door to the bookshop open in his usual dramatic flair. Aziraphale had been reorganizing some books, jumping back at the sudden noise. His eyes widened when he saw Crowley standing there, and he opened his mouth as if to say something before shutting it again. All the words Crowley was going to say died on his tongue, the anger that he had felt snuffed out as soon as he saw his angel, and before he knew it, he was closing the distance between them.

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale and pulled him into him, holding the angel as tightly as he could. Aziraphale froze against his touch, his body stiffened, but after a few seconds of uncertainty, his arms snaked their away around Crowley. His hands held fistfuls of Crowley’s jacket as if he were ready to hold him in his place if Crowley decided to run. He felt Aziraphale lower his head onto his shoulder, felt his jacket become damp with Aziraphale’s tears. Without either of their permission, their bodies sunk to the floor, the both of them still in each other’s arms and kneeling on the floor.

“I love you,” Crowley rested his head on Aziraphale’s, speaking into his ear, “I love you. So damn much. More than anything in this world. I’ve missed you like you wouldn’t believe.”

He felt Aziraphale begin to tense again in his arms, but he didn’t care. Crowley had to continue, had to get Aziraphale to come back to him, no matter how long that took.

“Please don’t make me live without you. I don’t _want _to live without you.” Crowley felt Aziraphale slowly pull himself back, not out of their embrace but to look at Crowley better.

Aziraphale stared into Crowley’s eyes and slowly, hesitantly, he raised one hand to cup his cheek, his touch delicate. Aziraphale’s eyes were red and puffy, and tears had made themselves a home on his face. His lips were trembling, and he looked like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words to do so.

Crowley didn’t give Aziraphale a chance to speak; their lips were inches apart, and he couldn’t help but crash his against Aziraphale’s. He didn’t mean to, he’d been planning on taking things slow, taking one thing at a time. Gazing at Aziraphale now, though, seeing his lips so close, well, he was like a starving man who someone had left an apple so carelessly in front of him. He couldn’t be blamed for snatching the fruit, for taking a bite out of it.

When their lips met, Crowley was scared that Aziraphale would push him away and ask him to leave his shop. That would be the thing that pushed him over the edge; to not only be rejected by Aziraphale once, but twice, especially now after spilling his heart out to him. Thankfully, Aziraphale returned Crowley’s kiss, relaxing fully to his touch. The kiss itself wasn’t desperate; it was soft, gentle, a kiss that expressed the pain of the last few months, the need for each other, the love for each other. 

Aziraphale receded from the kiss just as quickly as he had joined it, his eyes lit up with desperation.

“I didn’t mean it,” Aziraphale spoke quickly, “I didn’t mean any of it. Well, I- I _do _love you, but I lied about not wanting to! I do! I really do want to love you! It’s just- I was, so utterly terrified of what Hell would do to you when they found out about us.”

Crowley blinked, processing what Aziraphale had just said.

“C-Crowley?” Aziraphale asked after a minute.

“For someone so clever, how could you be so _stupid_?” It was Aziraphale’s turn to blink, for all the ways he thought Crowley was going to respond this was _not _one of them.

“Look, angel, this is _my _choice. I’ve known what the consequences of loving you have been for a _long _time. I know that at any moment they could come crashing through my door, and that would be it for me. But you know what? I don’t care. I don’t care if they come after me tomorrow or in a hundred years, I’m okay with the risk.” Crowley lifted his own hand to cover Aziraphale’s on his cheek.

“I don’t want you to die, Crowley. I don’t want to be the reason _why _you die.” More tears were escaping Aziraphale’s eyes, his voice coming out a mere whisper.

“You wouldn’t be the reason, Aziraphale, it would be me. _I’m _choosing to do this. Let me choose to do this.” With every word, Crowley felt himself leaning closer and closer to Aziraphale’s lips, before Aziraphale pulled Crowley in for another kiss.

This kiss was more desperate, and Crowley felt himself deepening the kiss without really thinking about it. Aziraphale moved his hands into Crowley’s hair, and Crowley moved his to cup Aziraphale’s face. 

“I’ll make up for this,” Aziraphale breathed against his lips, “I’ll make up for causing you so much pain.”

Their lips brushed against each other again, Crowley thinking that the constant contact between their mouths was more than enough to make up for it.

“We can move somewhere,” Crowley’s mouth moving against his interrupted Aziraphale’s thought, “Somewhere in the South Downs. Where we don’t have to be apart.”

Crowley nodded, and while yes, he was more than willing to pack up his things and move with in with Aziraphale, all he wanted at the moment was to just kiss, let their mouths make up for lost time.

It was strange, Crowley thought, how with each touch, every soft breath from Aziraphale seemed to be healing him, the broken parts of him mending together again. The empty place in his soul felt full again, Aziraphale’s presence filling every dark crevice inside of him. Crowley felt like himself again. He felt _whole _again.

It was also strange just how perfect their bodies fit together, like puzzle pieces, almost as if they had been made for each other.

As a matter of fact, they had been.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can find me on tumblr at ellewrites4 - https://ellewrites4.tumblr.com/


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